Falcar's Footsteps
by Idledreamcatcher
Summary: After studying a number of unknown shrines scattered through the provinces members of the Mages Guild end up murdered. An undying shadow is placed over a certain mage's life and not even dark magic can protect him from his fate...
1. Percelian

**Think of this as a long Prologue. It is pronounced: Per - cee- lee - an**

**Would like to also add Oblivion does not belong to me, the only thing I own is the plot of this story and my own characters. **

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**_Percelian_**

The newborn's cries echoed in the night like symphony of nature with various birds and insects adding a chorus with the child's cries. The stars above lay a blanket of light over the landscape creating false serenity amongst the entangled weeds and murky waters of the marsh surrounding the shaman's hut. Childbirth was a miracle in some sense, an occasion to celebrate new life and new blood to a family. But due to tradition and racial complications the birth of a high born Altmer was not one to welcome with such frivolous emotion.

The wooden hut was small, and was typical in its own ways. Herbs and strange artefacts – the most unnerving one being an infant's skull – cluttered the various shelves that bordered the four wooden walls. A bed of animal fur rested in the corner on a stone slab, an Altmer woman lay under its dishevelled blankets with a tear stained face. The tears of pain and exhaustion but no sorrow stained her face. Her golden hair stuck to her face with perspiration. The father on the other hand was the opposite lines of worry and sorrow echoed through his features. He stood beside his wife watching the healer carry the newborn to a silver basin at the table on the other side of the room.

The Orc Shaman, notorious amongst the Altmer nobles who wished for the purest heirs sat watching the couple with an impassive expression placed upon her face. She sat in the middle of the room surrounded by feathery charms hanging from the ceiling and small wooden figures of Daedric Princes.

The Shaman withdrew a silken bag from her rough cloak, her eyes now falling down to the silver dish in front of her. It was unremarkable with no shine to its metal and looked stained inside. With a nod towards the healer she removed the lace from the silken bag spilling what looked like small human finger bones into her hand. She threw them in the air, muttering a prayer to the spirits she was about to call upon. They landed with a clatter in the centre, and the Orc's eyes widened in surprise as she read their shapes which meant nothing to the two parents. "Interesting..."

The father cared little for The Shaman's response to the reading as all he wished to do was hold the child. The Shaman looked up, nodding again at the healer and he approached presenting the small bundle to the father. "It's a boy sir." There were no congratulations, no identifying his son as nothing more than an item waiting for inspection. This was not a moment for wishes best or ill. It was a moment of trial.

Before the mother could voice her protest the father reached out for his son..._his _son. There was no test in the world which could rip that fact from him. No God, no man or mer or beast alike could deny the fact that this child was his. He did not care if Akatosh himself fell from the heavens and cast blasphemies at the babe, nothing could ruin the feeling, the raw emotion of what he felt towards the child he had held for merely a few moments which felt like a lifetime. _He _was the newborn's father, and the newborn was _his_ son.

"What do you see?" his wife hissed from the bed, her voice burdened by impatience and fatigue. "What do the spirits say about the child? My father wants the purest for his heir since my brother is dead we need a male heritage." Her voice was usually silkier – it was a sign of good breeding her father would say as if his daughter was nothing more than a carriage horse. _Breeding..._that was all that mattered in her family's mind. It was important in livestock, animals that were herded senselessly in flocks. It described the nobility of Summerset Isle too well for the father's liking. However, such opinions could not be stated out loud, to do so was a sign of weakness..._ill breeding._

It was his facade of tradition which allowed him to marry his love, without it he would be an outcast...a disgrace. But even without the haughty attitude of his wife, he still disliked the fact his first son was born in such squalor and so far away from home.

The father ignored his wife's demands of the Shaman whose eyes were on him. He looked down at the still crying child, whose eyes had now opened to reveal a lovely icy blue. _Those eyes_...so familiar it brought a chill to his soul. "My father..." the man muttered to the others or whoever was listening. "He has my father's eyes like small gems passed down in heritage. I wonder if his title would fit him as well as the eyes..."

"Do not be foolish!" His wife snapped, a disapproving and stern glare flashed like a warning beacon. "It has no name until it's considered worthy of one."

At once the child was snatched from him, the Altmer healer already crossing the room to measure the child's abilities and physical attributes. He circled the babe, who was innocent and oblivious to the decision which had to be made as if he were a bird of prey waiting and watching for any sign of weakness. It was harrowing for the father...he did not wish to think how harrowing it must have been for the crying child.

The Orc was now back to the bones which lay idle in the dish, again she seemed to be muttering a prayer under her breath. She withdrew another item, a vial filled with a liquid which looked like ink and blood combined together – red and black entangled. She pulled the tiny cork from the vial and proceeded to spill it over the bones. As soon as the two made contact, the liquid hissed and the bones began to twitch awkwardly. Fumes, light and wavering, similar to fumes from recently snuffed candles swirled from the dish. The bones curling up like frightened caterpillars.

"The child is unfit to meet the standard requirements," the healer stated after examining the child, his voice cold with disgust. _Unfit..._was there anything crueller than labelling a child something so degrading as it blissfully lay unaware and innocently waiting for the loving arms of a parent. "I believe we have a culled one sir." _We..._there was no 'we' in it. '_We_' belonged to society, narrow minded vipers whose poisonous traditions led him to this moment.

"Shaman..." it was a plea more than a request or perhaps it was both entwined with the other. "...what do you say, we came to you for help...please what do you say about my child?" _My..._it was deliberate, so pronounced his wife clicked her tongue in annoyance at his words, as if trying to shift a bad taste from her mouth.

With a small intake of breath she closed her eyes ignoring the babe's cries. He could see her eyes moving underneath their lids as if she suffered from a terrible dream. An idol, one of the wooden Daedra Princes fell over. "Ur-dra recognises the child, the spirits tell me of his fate and of his path. I see him hiding in the darkness; secrets lay bitter on his tongue. Bitterness...manipulation...loss...cruelty...it starts with three mages lying dead within their own blood at the base of the spirit world. I feel him trapped at the end, falling into a skeletal cage within the grip of the master lich. Unwavering undead stalk the halls of death. This child is touched by mystery, his birth marks Nocturnal's trial...her decent, within the cover of night she watches. Vanity is a rose amongst thorns...but I cannot see so far in the dark. Power has a price, curiosity with death...so close with death it is unreal."

Her eyes shot open, staring at the child's father and her words of madness came to an end. The child had stopped crying, the father waited with bated breath. All of what she had said was above his head, but when words such as '_death' _and _'darkness'_were repeated it gave the impression not all was well. "The spirits agree. The child is a culled one. It is custom in these parts of Summerset Isle for the father to perform the culling."

Horror was not a strong enough word for the bitter emotion which rose in his chest. His wife grimaced as the healer brought the child back to his parents, its little form now wriggling in the cloth. "No..." he never wished for this moment in his life. How could anyone hold such a thing in their arms and then just let go to whatever paternal instinct grabbed a hold of their hearts? How could anyone just drop that connection and let it shatter on the floor as if it were beneath them? "We cannot..." he was begging, not the healer or the shaman but the woman who had given birth to his son. "We...we tried so hard for so long."His wife sneered at the bundle the healer offered her, turning her head and forgetting it was ever part of her. "We tried so hard for so many years and now we are blessed with a son...how can we give that up?"

"'It's no blessing _Percelian _stop speaking as if it is! 'Tis a curse if there ever was one! Did you not hear what was said? We can have other children; there are still ways we can try. He did not seem so strong anyway, probably would not have survived infancy...do away with it before the night is over or get the healer to do it. I wish my sight on it no longer, I would take its life but I feel too weak to do so."

"No, I will do it myself," he spoke the words trying to swallow the bile feelings. He would rather take the child himself than watch a stranger disappearing with him into the night.

The healer shoved the now gurgling child back into his arms. The shaman watched him, pity shaping the tone of her voice as she spoke. "Do not use magic to kill the child Percelian." The father threw a scowl at her for daring to speak his name in such a soft familiar tone as if they had been friends for years. "He is a child of magic, a destined mage and to do so would invoke the wrath of the Gods. Outside there is a small alter with a silver knife. Feed the night with his blood, and then do what you see fit with his body."

The orders were so simply and cruelly put in his head that it was as if evil were mocking him from the void. "A mage..." he whispered. He looked down at the silent babe who was now watching Percelian with beautiful icy blue eyes which seemed to pierce a hole into his heart. "My father was a mage before he died..."

He walked to the door, leaving the incense filled hut with little hesitation. The last thing he saw was the Shaman pulling out a piece of parchment out of her pocket with sorrowful eyes – using a feather from a charm as her quill and the ritual liquid as her ink.

It was as if his feet had taken control over his mind and now directed him out onto the marsh's night. As soon as the cool air gracefully passed the two of them, the child watched him with an innocent look unknowing that the eyes which looked back belonged to a soon to be murderer. Outside she stood waiting, his mother, her aged features eagerly awaiting news. "Well?" she demanded with her wispy silver hair lifting in the light breeze. "Spit it out, what is it? Grandson or granddaughter? _Quickly now!_ I have a carriage back in civilisation waiting to deliver me back to the ship ports!"

He could barely speak, and with a mutter laced with grief he said "You have a grandson...I have a son..."

"Well that's –"she paused, her wizened eyes reading his sorrow. "He is a culled one." She read his emotions like a simple worded book and yet her own were void of any such sadness. "The _bastard_!" Percelian knew at once she was talking about the father of his wife. "He will not be happy until our whole line wiped out! He sent your father on that _insane _voyage to those Bosmeri savages and look what happened! I told the fool not to go, but he said we must respect our peers bah! That man just wants to get rid of us; he will use this as an excuse to remarry his daughter to someone else. I cannot believe he sent you out here to talk with barbarians. You might as well ask a sweetroll if a child is worthy. It would probably give you a saner answer...silence...much better than nonsense. This was the reason I moved to Cyrodiil, many more fools but at least these fools do not wield as much power."

"What should I do mother?" Percelian begged for her wisdom which he had ignored for years. "Please, tell me what to do..."

She shook her head giving off a solemn air. "There is nothing you can do; you must do as you were instructed. The child is no longer welcome in Summerset Isle. His fate is in the lap of the Gods, finish him painlessly and let them find a place for him." She stood back into the shadows as he turned to the alter further away. "May the nine bless our souls."

The alter stood proudly in the centre of the Shaman's own marsh area, looking harmless in the silver beam of moonlight that shone down upon its marble works. The only clue to its sinister nature was the silver dagger which lay on top of the small dais, runes decorating the handle. He placed the gurgling child in the middle, his own shaking slender fingers wrapping around the cold handle with tears threatening to cascade down his cheeks as he lifted it above the babe.

It was as if the child had suddenly had a foresight of its brief future and his cries pierced the night once again. A roll of what sounded similar to thunder echoed across the canvas of the night sky and teardrops from the heavens fell upon them, each drop icier than the last. An owl screeched from afar, breaking the once peaceful symphony of nature into anarchy. The toads bellowed their croaks in a sudden unsealed anger as if they were war cries, insects no longer contrasted each other and each seemed to call out to the toads and the bird's song fell silent. Each sound now had its own agenda, and it felt as if nature was turning on him.

The dagger slipped from Percelian's grasp, and he shrieked out to the sky in the hope the Gods would hear him. If they could not hear his words then they would hear his frantic heartbeat which echoed through the marsh. "What do you want! Is my child's blood not good enough for the deities who watch over? Do you Auri-El understand my plight? Is his death for the gods or the pride of my own race? What right do I have over his life? What right does that shaman or my father by marriage have over this small child? I do what I believe is right and nature curses me with its cries!"

In a matter of seconds he swept the child back into his arms, suddenly conscious of the rain falling splashing onto the newborn's skin. Despite the rain, the night sky was still clear and the stars still comforted the scene. "At least you and I still have the stars dear child," he whispered, the child ceasing its crying. "The Gods may not be here but the stars are our comfort. The Serpent has fled and The Mage reigns as it should. No poison in our sky, no venom in our hearts, no toxin in our souls. The world is ours and the night is yours. But am I to follow the orders of spirits or the mercy of the muted stars?"

The child took this moment to reach out with a small hand, clasping a stray braid from his father's hair as the mer spoke to him. Percelian gave a weak laugh, trying to prize the rogue braid from his son's tight clasp. The child was perfect to him with his beautiful almond shaped eyes of ice, the golden hue on his skin which branded his race, the pointed ears. There was no use denying it, he would never kill this child. "Tradition be damned!" he did not care who heard, the spirits themselves could rile a tempest upon this very shore and he would stand by what he felt. If only there was a way...

"My _dear _Percelian," her words could not have come at a better time. They were not tender and as he turned he could see her aged features were distorted with annoyance. "The sooner your _precious _wife and yourself are away from this stain on the wilderness the better. Bandits and Sloads crawl around this area in numbers, I passed a few myself on the way here bandits that is, I would never have let a Sload live. So do away with the child quickly and make haste to home!"

It came upon him as a sudden thought and he almost found himself on his knees in plight – but even he had his pride. So instead he stood, tears slowly descending down his cheeks and his voice was choked. "Please," he begged the woman who had once held him the same way he held his son right now. "I cannot kill him...take him to Cyrodiil with you...please..." She was shocked at his words but he cared little for her surprise. "What does it matter if he is away or dead? Either way he is an outsider to this society. I will tell them he is gone, I'll smear my own blood on that alter if it saves him!"

A wizened hand reached out for her Percelian's cheek and instead of a tender pat she slapped him. It was most likely a gesture to bring him to his senses but he still retained that mournful dirge in his eyes. "You foolish man, your compassion will doom us all. I see your point but you are bound by duty. The child is a culled one and no culled one should be spared...give me the child and I will see to it he knows no pain."

"Never!" It was a hiss he threw at her as she reached out for his son. "What use is duty if he is in another province! Were you not saying that these things are for fools? Are you turning away from your words you spitefully threw at my father by marriage? Are you turning your back on what you believe for the sake of appearances?"

He received another slap, this one with more strength behind it. "I do not tempt fate you fool! The child would need a mother to survive infancy anyway; I cannot provide him everything his own mother could. His life bears the omens of death."

"Children have survived without mothers, Father's mother died at birth and he was raised by one parent alone." The thunder rolled above them once more, a chill entered the breeze and this certainly did not help against his mother's case of omens.

She was losing the battle, he could tell by her tired eyes she was fighting some sort of inner fued. Her eyes were the window into her own dilemma, whether it was moral or not it still gave his son a chance at life. "I wish you would stop threatening my heart with your father Percelian. He was foolish like you but he would have agreed. But I still have my doubts...I have no faith in the Shaman as I do not listen to the words of barbarians but this child might end up as whatever she saw him fit to kill him over."

The speech was lost on Percelian and he cared very little for it. "Every child has that chance, but away from here perhaps the chance will be slimmer." He could see reason battling worry in her eyes once again, he went back to the emotional advantage he had over her. "He is a mage, she told me so. Just like father was before he died."

The glimmer of acknowledgement in her eyes could not be missed. Gruffly, so not to show too much emotion as he knew she hated the power he now had over her she asked "Let me look at the babe and I will see for myself." Percelian passed her his son who now seemed to be chewing on his small hand. He was reluctant at first but he saw no danger in the elder woman holding him for a short while. "Hmm..." her eyes were scrutinising and stern observing the bundle in her arms who merely watched her without a flinch. "You were much better looking as a child Percelian, it's that damned harlot –" he flinched at the way she spoke of his wife. "- and her ilk that is to blame for his looks. He looks like a savage Percelian..."

"He looks nothing of the sort, harmless and mild the child seems to be."

"He looks disobedient; those eyes are cunning and sharp so much like his grandfather's. He would fit well in Cheydinhal – feral the lot of them! But he would have his grandmother's grace..." she narrowed her eyes at the child who was continuing to gnaw at his hand. "He is a biter just like you were, chomping on my furniture like an overgrown caterpillar. He is a _strange _child indeed..."

"He is a _beautiful _child," Percelian whispered as if enchanted by a weary dream. "He shall have his grandfather's name, a case for the jewels that are his eyes. The hag said he would be a mage, perhaps he could become something his grandfather strived to be. Perhaps the shoes are his to fill..."

"Humph," the elder mer grunted as she turned back to her son. "Let's hope he does not fill my late husband's shoes too much...the fool danced himself into his grave."

Percelian felt warmth for the first time that night, despite the light icy raindrops and the deathly chill in the breeze. "You will take him with you then?"

She seemed hesitant once again, her eyes quickly scanning the marsh for any other signs of life. "This does not abide well with me; I fear something terrible might happen but..." Percelian's eyes widened with the last ounce of hope he had. "...the child may be my only heir to carry on _our _family. Your father by marriage is a bitter man who would be horrified at the thought of having a bastard heir roaming around." An unpleasant smile crossed her lips. "That is a thought which bodes well with me. And besides, having a mage around will be handy and the people who were living in my house before myself left behind a rather nice oaken cradle." She nodded, finally swallowing her decision. "Very well, I will take him but it will be a miracle if he survives the journey."

The moment was bittersweet for Percelian. He was gaining a son, and losing one at the same moment. He would share a world but not a life with him. He would never hold his child again; never meet the wife he may one day pick. He would never be there for him when the world turned cold, and would never be there to rejoice when his world was alive once more. Would his son know his name? To demand such a thing was impossible, his mother was already risking enough to let the child free. It was too much and yet too little, those blue eyes shining in his mind where the stars had once shone.

"One last goodbye," it was all he wanted and with a look of reluctance the elder Altmer placed the child in his arms once more. He wished he could give his wife the same chance but she had already made her mind to where the child belonged. He wept bitter tears which did not belong to sorrow or joy. With a final kiss on the child's head, the golden tufts of hair became more noticeable as his lips brushed against its softness. It was the only thing he believed belonged to his wife, it was a shame. If she had spent longer with the child, looked more closely at his innocent features perhaps she would have seen enough of herself in him to spare his life.

It was their final parting and it hurt Percelian much more than he had anticipated. Any sounds of creeping were hidden behind the symphony of nature which arose once again at the child's departure. Whether this was a sign of acceptance of the Gods Percelian did not know and to be brutally honest he no longer cared. Before the elder Altmer snuck away into the night, she paused with a graceful half turn of her head. "Shall I give him your name?"

"No..." his voice was barely audible but just above a sobbed whisper. "I stick by my original plan he shall be his grandfather's boy. The name fits does it not?"

"It does," and no more words were spoken in the exchange. With the bundle in her arms, the elder Altmer disappeared into the darkness and he would never see her again. The fates now were mocking, the symphony still hiding the creeping that was out of sight. Closer and closer it came to the oblivious elf, and never would he know his home was further away than ever. He never even heard the sheathing of metal, and his cry was muffled by the owl's screech.

And with his last breath he cried out for the child he would never see. "_Falcar..."_

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**a/n: Three Guesses to who the main character may be. Eh? Eh? EH? Well if the title or the character listing or the above line does not give you a clue then you'll just have to wait.**

**Oh before I forget : Ur-Dra is another title of Nocturnal (my favourite Daedric Prince) and Auri-El is what the Altmer call Akatosh. **


	2. The Strange Associate

**Thank you everyone who previously reviewed! I should mention this is set twenty/twenty five years before the Oblivion crisis. Even though it is set before the game, there might be spoilers to the Mages Guild quest line. Such as the nature of Falcar. If you are really worried about being spoiled, play the Mages Guild Questline and come back! I thought it was quite a good Guild, not the best but it was enjoyable. ****If you don't really worry about spoilers but wonder: Who the fudge is Falcar? Falcar is that lovely Altmer who is head of the Cheydinhal guild hall. When I first spoke to him he said I was slow and should get used to rejection. What a darling! **

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**_Chapter One: The Strange Associate_**

Bosmer were always strange creatures in the eyes of the Mages Guild, and Thaelorn knew this well. He was not a bitter man nor did he have the desire to adopt a rather light-hearted personality that some of his other Bosmeri guild members had been known to do. He was matter of fact, perhaps softer than the other Magicians in that degree but otherwise he knew how to control his charges. But when a certain charge would suddenly stray out of his control and protection, his softness would harden and a different side of his character would flare up like a beast suddenly released from its cage. Anger was common place within the leader of a team, especially when one of his charges is three hours late.

Thaelorn was slightly smaller than the average Bosmer, a disadvantage for his superior position but an advantage he could use to appear more harmless than he actually was. He remembered in his youth when he was an associate. He got on the bad side of a rather agitated Nord and the look on that boy's face when Thaelorn unleashed a rather sinister summon skeleton spell was something that kept him amused on many a dreary trip across the provinces. Yes, in appearances with his small height, short curls of silver streaked russet hair and soft brown eyes he appeared harmless but the years studying arcane arts had defiantly worked out for the best.

Hammerfell grew darker as the evening took its turn in the day, the sixth hour had come and gone and there was no sign of his personal associate. By the campsite Thaelorn guarded with his very life the rest of the party had already taken their places. He saw a Nord and an Orc exchanging pleasantries over the fireplace as a rather frustrated Breton attempting to raise his tent between the Nord and the Orc's. He noticed a fourth tent had also taken its place on the opposite side of the Orc's one. Unlike the others which were made of an expensive red material, this one was much duller, and obviously more weatherworn. Strange blue embroidery circled around the entrance, almost as if it was trying to express its uniqueness.

Thaelorn turned his attention back to the distance where the fifth member should have appeared three hours ago. Lost between the thoughts of _I hope he's alright _and _I'm going to wring his neck, _the Bosmer did not see the Imperial standing behind him. He heard someone clear their throat and turning swiftly with his ebony staff raised in his right hand he saw the young man whose eyes widened with shock at such a reaction. Hastily mumbling his apologies, he took the note and the Imperial scuttled off like a distressed mud crab.

He skimmed past most of the Arch-Mage's formalities and skipped straight to the point of the message which was scrawled with little care. "_Your guide_ _is a Redguard named Sason. Please make sure your party treats him with the respect he deserves, there is no need for me to stress the importance of the shrine his people discovered. I need to know if it matches the one in Valenwood. If so, perhaps there is an important discovery in the guild's future. The Redguards are suspicious of mages; I do not want to give them a motivation to continue with these suspicions. Keep your party in control, and serve the Guild with grace. I put my trust in you magistrate."_

Thaelorn groaned at the thought of explaining to the Arch-Mage how on his very first expedition he had lost his personal associate before it had even started. Closing his eyes in a brief dream of strangling the said associate, it was broken when a deep voice thick with casualness suddenly cried "Oi!" He suddenly opened his eyes to see the Orc from before waving him over with his large, silver gloved hand. Thaelorn moved so swiftly not even a second seemed to have passed before the elf was standing in front of the Orc, a look of disapproval etched upon his features.

"I would prefer..." he begun in a voice he used to lecture his current associate in the past. "...if you did not refer to me as 'Oi'. I am your superior and for now I would have you refer to me as Magician or perhaps once we have known each other longer than a few hours you may call me Thaelorn."

Taken aback by such swiftness, the Orc displayed more grace than he actually had. Suddenly abandoning all brashness and casualness, he stiffened with a small bow and replied "Apologies Magician. I merely called you over to enquire about...the others. I noticed the blue tent before we arrived and I also notice there is another red one with the rest of the supplies behind us. We wondered..." Thaelorn knew at once the Orc was not speaking for himself and by the way the Breton suddenly stopped, the elf knew it was him who had asked the Orc to speak. Respecting both the Breton's shyness and the Orc's boldness he politely let him carry on. "...who these other members were."

All their eyes were upon their leader now and he suddenly felt quite conscious about the absence of his associate. Brushing it away for a moment he answered. "Yes, there are two more members to the party. Miss Belle Dubois is currently sleeping in her tent; she has travelled from Valenwood much farther than anyone else so I allowed her to get some rest before joining us. And there is Falcar my own personal associate who should have arrived by now...it is unlike him to be late." A frown made its way onto his elven features, one he could not brush off easily. Luckily he was distracted by a groan that had escaped the Nord's lips.

"Is something wrong?" asked Thaelorn in genuine concern as he was becoming more and more unnerved with the responsibility that was weighing on him. He never wished for Falcar more in his life, which was strange seeing as he usually enjoyed it when Falcar was nowhere near him.

The Nord did not seem fazed by the touching concern of his leader but instead seemed to be edging on a complaint. "I don't mean to sound like a bigot but did you really have to bring a High Elf? Hate 'em, sick o' them pompous elves. Always strutting around –"

"Now that's enough of that!" snapped Thaelorn, not so much in annoyance but with a sudden foreshadowing chill he knew if Falcar heard any such thing said he would make this trip so much more difficult.

The Nord turned to him, his long fair hair framing the sides of his large round face. As he spoke, his lips seemed to curl into a knowing smile and he spoke with such softness it was almost a whisper "So this Falcar ain't like that then?"

Thaelorn bit his lip as an ironic inner voice carried out the conversation in his head. _Of course Falcar isn't like that. He's a lovely gentleman who would never kick children out of the way when he's in a temper. Not that he has tempers. Sure he has the occasional bad day...or bad week...or bad month...but that doesn't make him a bad person overall. He's very friendly, just loves to talk to people and tell them what's on his mind...or an opinion he has. And not at all snobbish...he's so modest in reality_. The Nord's smile grew into a wide triumphed grin. Thaelorn admitted defeat by merely stating "Falcar is difficult..."

Indeed, Falcar was difficult and it worried Thaelorn of just how difficult Falcar could be. No-one in the guild understood why he even recruited Falcar who – not too long ago – was merely a scholar. He had been rejected by many of the more high-ranking Guild members, who all took his rather abrasive personality against him. Thaelorn remembered meeting him for the first time, almost surprised by the man he was made to face. When he heard the various complaints made against this strange Altmer, Thaelorn had always imagined a rebellious adolescent who struggled with authority figures.

Thaelorn would never be able to express the utter surprise of seeing him, tall and daunting as described but a grown man not a child. It took a while for the bosmer to approach him, slowly like someone would approach a startled deer. He never trusted strangers and he acknowledged the Bosmer with scorn. Curiosity drew him to Falcar, who was fascinating yet vile at the same time. He had a malevolence that made Thaelorn wary in every way. But what possessed him to even consider recruiting him was something even Thaelorn himself was never able to fathom. Pity perhaps, as Falcar himself was alone. It took him a while to admit, each day he would snarl poisonous words towards the Bosmer yet at the same time he sensed a craving for attention. Perhaps Falcar did not resent his presence as much as he stated too.

Or perhaps it was the Altmer's raw potential, it was no use denying that Falcar was a very gifted individual. He was difficult yes and Daedra seemed to feel more feelings than Falcar did. Emotion was as foreign to Falcar as cutlery was to a wild beast. But he was impressive with spells; telekinesis was a particular favourite of Falcar's and his steady hand made it much more effective. His Alteration and Conjuration skill was also high, higher than one would expect for someone who had never been trained. It was also hard to doubt Falcar himself was highly intelligent, even the mages that had refused him admitted his intelligence was an asset but stated it was a shame he never inputted more of it into his personality.

It was a dreary day when Thaelorn finally decided to recruit Falcar. He had to practically beg the Arch-Mage on his hands and knees to be allowed to take on an associate even though he was merely a Magician and not even a Steward at the time. Such responsibility usually lay upon the shoulders of a Warlock or Wizard. He used the same words as he used in the letter _"I put my trust in you magistrate"_, finally granting him the permission. He remembered rushing to The Tiber Septim hotel where the High Elf was staying. He remembered opening the room where Falcar was, crouched beside the bed with his alchemy equipment and only allowing the flames of a few scattered candles to light his room, closing the curtains so the sunlight was blocked. Thaelorn once recalled mockingly accusing Falcar of being a vampire because of his fondness of the dark. It earned him a well deserved scathing remark which poorly hid Falcar's own amusement of the question.

Once he told Falcar he now was a member of the Guild with a place to stay, he never showed gratitude or delight but nodded, accepting what was now done but Thaelorn did catch the glimpse of the Altmer's lip curling upwards for a second. It was the nearest thing to a smile Thaelorn had seen on his new associates face.

As an associate, Falcar was just as difficult. Thaelorn knew the road with him would not be easy, he knew the High Elf would be a challenge and that was another reason he took to the detached individual as his associate. Thaelorn loved a challenge, especially one as different and unusual as Falcar. There were some difficulties which would make the Bosmer sometimes reconsider his choice. Falcar was not obedient. For someone who had trouble expressing emotions, anger was one he could quickly jump to and seemed to be the only true emotion within him at times. He would throw a tantrum if things did not go his way; he would speak back to Thaelorn without a care to the consequences.

Thaelorn hated yelling at Falcar, not only because it was completely useless as Falcar would never apologise but the fact of height. It was just tough luck that Falcar was much taller than Thaelorn which was unsurprising seeing as the aggravated elf was an Altmer and Thaelorn was disadvantaged of being a rather small Bosmer. It was useless at first because both Thaelorn and Falcar could not take each other seriously but now the Wood Elf demanded Falcar to be seated while he yells so at least Thaelorn can have some superiority. This presented problems within itself especially if Falcar was in a defiant mood where he would just refuse to be seated. When this happened Thaelorn's anger would be shown through a rather effective round of 'dodge the fireball'. It was a good thing Falcar was not a lazy individual and quick on his feet.

With these thoughts of Falcar swirling through his mind, a sudden worry seemed to take its place. It was so unlike Falcar, even in his most defiant moods to be so late. The "_I hope he's alright" _drowned out any thoughts of wringing the Altmer's neck, and at once Thaelorn considered going out to search for him. The dry land of Hammerfell would be vast, and he knew it would be foolish to leave the others unguarded. His sudden inner panic was calmed as he heard the familiar sound of a horse's whine. Whipping his head to the source, he saw a figure approaching on a mare in the distance but the features were blurred by the sun's dying light.

Thaelorn remembered when he first visited Falcar after he was made an associate. He learned a little more about his personal life, a little more about the empty existence the self proclaimed scholar seemed to lead. He found the Altmer in the Imperial City stables, stroking a beautiful Chestnut mare's mane with a tenderness Thaelorn had never seen. A look of pure serenity was fixed upon the Altmer's face, the golden glow of his skin made it radiant. His eyelids would flutter shut as the creature would brush her head against his shoulder, nuzzling him affectionately. He knew they were familiar with each other and he remembered walking towards him carefully so not to startle the two beings of rare magnificence.

"Is this your steed Falcar?" The Bosmer remembered asking with curiosity and amazement tinting the words with a soft overtone.

It was the startled deer approach he had become so used to using with the Altmer. As soon as he spoke, Falcar's eyes shot right open, his blue eyes distressed for a moment and a scowl corrupted the perfect vision Thaelorn had witnessed. He let go of the beast, and stepped back surveying Thaelorn with both terror and anger. The Bosmer at once realised he had intruded in Falcar's world, trespassed onto sacred ground where Falcar was not ready to defend. Raising his hands as if calm him and admit surrender, he slowly moved towards his associate but stopping a few feet in front of him so he could have his space. Space was very important to Falcar. "I'm sorry," Thaelorn remembered whispering in an attempt to soothe. "It was accidental; I was merely going out collecting alchemy ingredients for Dee-Aero when I saw you."

Falcar never moved – his cold blue eyes seemed to be fighting some sort of inner battle. Thaelorn nodded, realising he was not going to get a quick response and decided to leave him be. He begun to walk away before another idea suddenly hit him. He paused in mid step and turned to see Falcar still frozen, watching the retreating Bosmer with an intensity that would be slightly unnerving if it were another guild member but Thaelorn was not worried. "Do you wish to come Falcar? It would be nice to have some company."

"Your pathetic attempts at kindness is neither appreciated nor needed." It was the kind of response Thaelorn had anticipated. The words were as icy as his demeanour, spoken in a sharp tongue Falcar wielded like a dagger. "I am not one to be _patronised_."

The Bosmer decided to wield his own weapon, a false smile which was armoured by his cunning eyes. "If you really dislike walking, you could take your steed. She's very beautiful you know it would be a shame to leave her cooped up in the stables without a run. And she seems to adore you by what I witnessed. You should be a good master and give her some freedom"

He had hit the spot for now the iciness was melted away by the flames of anger. "She is _not _my steed!" His voice had become a hiss; the deer had suddenly turned its tail and decided to bite like a serpent. "Not that any of this is your business. The beast does _not _adore me, it is a mindless animal." It was as if he was trying to convince himself more than Thaelorn. "I was her master, once. But not anymore, I sold her, I had no need for her and she can serve someone else now!" With a last hiss he slunk away in his usual sullen mood.

The real fact of selling the horse was not over a sudden boredom like Falcar had weakly tried convincing him. It was obvious from the moment he first saw Falcar he knew that he was not the richest of elves. When seeing a High Elf, one would immediately believe they were wealthy. They would brag, they would show off, they would wear fitting clothes.

Falcar _always_wore a blue suede outfit with matching shoes but never carried around a lot of money. His alchemy equipment was of a novice level and he was sure Falcar was much higher than that. All the ingredients he used were local, found just outside the City gates. He remembered once walking into Falcar's inn room before he became his associate and he discovered the Altmer attempting to bandage an injured arm. Thaelorn tried to heal him but the stubborn Altmer flung curses at him and the Bosmer barely made it out the door without being hit.

It was a slaughterfish bite without a doubt. It was a true clue to his financial situation because many of the merchants in the market district would have sold him slaughterfish scales for a reasonable price. Thaelorn even remembered one horrible night where he pondered over the thought that Falcar was hoping he would get both a free alchemy sample and a free dinner.

Thaelorn remembered speaking to the stable mistress, with the effects of a capable charm spell he was able to buy the horse for a modest fee...it was surprising what simple persuasion and flattery could do when mixed with illusion. He was cruelly waiting in the shadows afterwards with the chestnut mare by his side as he watched for Falcar. True enough, Falcar appeared and the utter shock of seeing the mare gone made Thaelorn feel slightly guilty but also made what he was about to do even more enjoyable. He stepped out of the shadows and Falcar turned to see Thaelorn with his hands brushing through her mane. Jealousy was too strong a word; it was only anger that burned in his icy eyes where jealousy and confusion should have been.

"She's lovely isn't she?" Thaelorn knew Falcar would react and surely enough that scowl that usually marred his face made its reappearance.

"Why must you play these games?" It was tired and bitter, and actually cut through Thaelorn to hear them. The man must have been alone for a long time, unable to grasp the fact what Thaelorn was trying to do was connect with him. Trying to reach out and understand more about his challenge and the man who was going to be a large part in his life.

"I'll give her to you if you want," Thaelorn told him and he could not help slipping into a smile when Falcar froze once again. "But only if you tell me something about yourself." He expected some resistance but once again Falcar's eyes clouded over as if fighting some sort of internal struggle, perhaps his pride battling his desire.

"Why?" It was genuine puzzlement on the Altmer's part. "Why would you do such a thing? What use is insignificant information?"

"Call it a gift – a gift is an item one would give a friend on a special occasion."

"_Friend!_" Falcar sneered, a distasteful expression seem to take over his scowl. "I would call this more of a bribe; you hope to tempt me with her so you can satisfy your curiosity."

Thaelorn's eyebrow seemed to slowly arch up, "Is it working?"

A smirk cleansed all look of contempt for a second before Falcar answered. "Perhaps it is, very well what do you wish to know?"

"Where are you from?"

"Cheydinhal, I was raised by my grandmother there. I had to leave due to... circumstances." _Financial..._Falcar did not need to speak it out loud for his eyes said it all, the broken pride, the disgust and the desperation was a mild shadow over the sudden calm blue.

How many months had passed with Falcar in his service? The time seemed to slowly drift by as he stood by the side of the strange elf. Within the months he learned odd things, small things some would see as unimportant but to Thaelorn any information one could grasp about Falcar was not useless. In fact, it was a rare gem to have as the Altmer preferred to keep himself closed off. But some just slipped out accidently.

His odd delight of strawberries was one of them. During all those times he spent watching the Altmer perform Alchemy he would spy him slyly sneaking a strawberry into his mouth. Realising after careful study, Strawberries were something he would enjoy frequently when he could. He would mess with Falcar, always leaving a plate full of strawberries on his desk when the Altmer would visit him in his study. The surprised and rather suspicious glances were amusing, the fact the Altmer had managed to eat every single one without Thaelorn seeing was not so amusing.

Another notable and most easily spotted fact was his vanity. Not surprising considering the proud nature of his race but the depths he would go to secure a clear and clean complexion was interesting. He refused to eat foods which could cause a mess. Anything which would change the colour of his mouth dramatically would be immediately disregarded of being edible. He could not stand a sauce of any kind near his food, even some fruits that seemed too full of juice would be avoided (except strawberries for some strange reason). Soup was probably Falcar's mortal enemy in the food world; he refused to believe it even existed as a meal and would always class it as a drink. The only time he would have soup was if it was in a goblet and not a bowl.

Another piece of information was Falcar always brushed his hair with a wooden comb and if any of the teeth seemed loose or missing he would never touch the comb again. It was many a time Thaelorn had passed the Altmer admiring his golden hair which blended beautifully with his golden skin and piercing blue eyes. The eyes which were so alive and so aware were looking for greys if Thaelorn could hazard a guess.

The warm memories of what had passed seemed to soothe the anger towards the approaching Altmer who was now as clear as day. He approached, his golden hair was windswept behind him and a look of irritation was painted onto his features. Thaelorn tapped his foot impatiently on the ground, more annoyed than angered, as the chestnut mare wandered onto the camp delivering her master. He could tell by Falcar's sudden stiff position on the horse that he knew he was in trouble. "And where in Oblivion's name have you been!"

Everybody on the camp stopped, the green Orc nudging the shy Breton who had joined the others by the fire as the sun became fainter. The Altmer opened his mouth, his lips slightly raw and chapped by the wind and his eyes falling to the other tents. "Has my tent not been put up yet?"

"The pure cheek," snarled Thaelorn the anger beginning to surface once again. "Of course it hasn't been built; _you _haven't been here to put it up! Get off that horse and join us, you've wasted enough of my time _associate_!"

Falcar's eyes fell to the other members and he did not attempt to hide the sneer he threw at them. An awkward silence seemed to fall as Falcar gently lowered himself to the ground, his hand stroking his mare's mane as he led her to the party. And without eye contact he sat down on a spare stool a few feet away from the Nord who seemed to shift a little away from him. Now content with everyone in their places, Thaelorn removed a piece of parchment from his pocket.

"With everyone here and despite the setback," his eyes flashed at Falcar who neither cared nor took notice. Thaelorn could not help thinking of how amusing it must be for the others to be suddenly put under the charge of this small Bosmer now pacing in front of them. "We can finally begin. We're here in Hammerfell to study an ancient shrine which was uncovered by a religious sect set up in the barren lands not too far from here. I was chosen to lead an expedition and I chose you all for different reasons. Now for the introductions, I am Thaelorn, Magician." He began to read from the parchment. "Olaf, apprentice."

"Aye that'll be me. Olaf the Enchanter at your service sir!" The Nord exclaimed proudly. Falcar snorted at the introduction and the Nord cast him a quick withering look.

"Goroth-gro-Kashug, apprentice."

"That's me, healer is my duty."

"Pierre LeBlanc, apprentice."

The shy Breton answered with a squeak, suddenly turning pink when everyone's eyes turned to him. Thaelorn nodded with a kind smile. "Belle Dubois, she's Journeyman so second in command if anything were to happen. She's knowledgeable with Daedra, superstitions and myths. She could become quite handy. Falcar," the Altmer looked up as his name was called.

"Here," Falcar answered curtly. The Nord suddenly whispered something into the Orc's ear; the green healer smirked and nodded. "Associate, skilled in Alchemy and Alteration. I wish to practise my destruction on this trip, especially testing certain race's resistance." The Nord froze as Falcar's cold eyes moved to him. "I would also like to inform you that my hearing is very sharp and –"

"Anyway," Thaelorn moved on quickly before the Altmer dug his own grave as the Nord was suddenly looking rather ready to fight. "You have all had a rather busy day of travelling and I bid you an early night." Night had already seemed to embrace Hammerfell as the eighth hour was taking stage. "We arise for our guide in the early hours; I will make sure you are all awake."

Pierre had already slipped into his tent after his name had been called, so the Orc and the Nord took their leave. Both nodded politely at their leader and avoided the glance of the haughty Altmer. Once they had departed, Thaelorn turned sharply on the spot to Falcar who was also trying to sneak off. "Sit down now!"

With a roll of his eyes, he whispered something in the ear of his mare. As if obeying orders she wandered away from the campsite and laid down to rest, her head lazily turning to the elves. Falcar satisfied sat down back on the stool, his posture was no longer stiff and he had a calm air around him as if he knew what to expect. His eyes looked straight into to Thaelorn's and at once the anger began.

"WHERE IN OBLIVION HAVE YOU BEEN FALCAR? ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS TRAVEL FROM THE UNIVERSITY, I GAVE YOU A MAP! DO YOU KNOW HOW WORRIED I'VE BEEN! I TOLD YOU TO COME WITH ME AS I SET OFF BUT YOU BLOODY WELL DEMANDED TO COME ON YOUR OWN AND LOOK HOW IT ENDED! ALMOST FOUR HOURS LATE! I SEE NO INJURIES, I SEE YOU TRAVELLED BY HORSE AND NOT FOOT WHICH SHOULD HAVE SPED YOU UP AND I SEE NO OTHER DRASTIC MEANS FOR BEING LATE!" Thaelorn took a breath before carrying on in a more hushed tone. "Do you not realise how many strings I had to pull for you to even be here? The Arch Mage believed you were not ready but I persuaded him to allow you to come with me. I told him you'd be an asset, so you better start acting like one."

Falcar did not even flinch during the whole thing; an impassive expression was forcefully placed on his face. Thaelorn expected him just to sit there with no excuse but as Falcar had no fear he spoke, his words highlighted with hidden amusement. "Lenore," the horse snorted as if to tell Falcar to leave her out of it. "...and I were chased off the roads by bandits. You obviously know how hard it is...well perhaps not as I doubt you can even ride a horse...but it is difficult to fire spells while on one. Where we ended up was unfamiliar and we had to ask passing merchants for directions." There was no apology and Thaelorn could tell Falcar was not lying. When Falcar lied, his eyes would narrow in frustration as his mind attempted to think of a quick cover story. But Falcar's eyes were clear; the blue seemed to stretch out like the calm waters of the lakes of Cyrodill on a cloudless day.

With a quick flick of the wrist Thaelorn cuffed him across the head, causing the Altmer to cry out in surprise and almost fall of the stool. It was an overreaction as it was only a light blow and Thaelorn chuckled at the lethal looks Falcar threw at him. "You should be grateful I didn't throw a fireball at you." Thaelorn suddenly took a serious and slightly threatening tone into his voice at his next statement. "But it could still happen if you don't keep a civil tongue in your head! That was the one thing you promised me, you would be civil to the others."

"I was civil," snapped Falcar who was still scowling from the blow.

"You never spoke a proper word to any of them!"

"Exactly, I see that as civil. I could have said so much more, for example telling that bigoted Nord where he could shove his repulsive insinuations. Who are these people anyway? Surely there were more gifted individuals you could have chosen for this? By the looks of things it was a good thing you brought me, you would be lost with just these halfwits...one of them didn't even turn –"

He was suddenly silenced by Thaelorn placing a finger on his lips. Thaelorn knew it was the only way he would get Falcar to let him have a word in edgeways, as the Altmer would complain until the sun had risen again. A few months ago it would have been a risky move as the Altmer disliked being touched but within the months he had known him Falcar seemed not to mind Thaelorn's touch. Whether it was a gentle hand on the shoulder in support or a small cuff across the ear, Falcar did not go as hostile as he would with anyone else.

"Falcar," it was a soft spoken tone but there was an urgency that weaved through the words, threading it together. "Behave yourself. Do not judge so harshly, these people are more capable than you think. Olaf is a very gifted enchanter, and understands enchanted objects almost as well as any evoker in the subject. Goroth-gro-Kashug is a gifted healer and he understands ailments better than me. I needed a healer to come with us because I sadly lack much understanding in Restoration. I would never forgive myself if one of you was hurt and I could do nothing but watch." His soft brown eyes showed a glimmer of sadness as a bitter memory from his youth replayed with the words. "Pierre despite his timid attitude is a talented battlemage in training, capable of fighting with destruction. My destruction and conjuration skills exceed his but if we faced an attack I would be much happier knowing there was another warrior at my side."

Thaelorn removed his finger from Falcar's lips in order to allow the Altmer a question. "What about the Belle woman, why was she not with us?"

"Belle Dubois had travelled from the depths of Valenwood, twice as far as any of you and was the first to arrive. She was weary from her travels so I allowed her rest. I expect she'll come out at midnight when it's darkest. She's an extraordinary woman but very mysterious and very strange. Rumour has it she's a daedra worshipper and from what I've seen of her I wouldn't be surprised."

Falcar's eyes suddenly went cold. "Is Daedra worship not against the guild's restrictions?"

"Surprisingly no, it's just heavily frowned upon much like Necromancy. Not many people openly admit it, but like many religious beliefs the Arch Mage is forced allow it as for he doesn't want to give the impression the mages guild judges by religion. Innovation and tradition are always at odds with each other. Personally I don't give a damn if she's the demented lover of Sanguine, as long as she helps me decipher the ruins I'm as happy as can be."

Even Falcar could not help smirking at the Sanguine comment. "She's a Breton; there would be no surprise if she was. My grandmother used to always say a Breton would never stay to one bed."

Thaelorn bit his lip to suppress a smile, "Shush now Falcar, I'm already half convinced she's a vampire. I don't need to start worrying she's hiding a Daedra Prince in that tent as well." He shook his head to push away the amusement. "We should not be cruel as true as the tales I've heard are probably are. The woman was on that expedition to the shrine in Valenwood. Did the University explain what happened?"

Falcar nodded, Thaelorn was sure it was from the gossip he would have overheard in the halls of the Apprentices. "The expedition in Valenwood to see the shrine, Master Roux and two other mages were found dead at the base of the shrine. All three had had their throats cut. The rest were ordered to return."

Thaelorn nodded, a solemn expression drowned all the previous amusement away. "The Arch Mage dismissed it as a bandit attack, and of course ordered them to retreat to the University. Belle herself was the only one that remained behind but when she heard of this expedition she asked to join. The shrine has her undivided attention. Bernard Roux before he died, may the Gods bless him, told me she was a capable student despite some of the unusual reports on her. He was a great man; Skingrad will surely feel the loss of their Steward." Thaelorn closed his eyes to calm a moment of distress. "I just don't believe for a second a Wizard of his power could fall so easily. I have seen him take packs of wolves with a single spell; there was no possible way a group of common bandits could have taken him so easily without that much of a struggle."

Thaelorn knew Falcar was used to his various objections to the Arch-Mage. But the Wood Elf saw a curiosity in his eyes. "What do you think happened?"

Thaelorn quickly glanced around the campsite making sure there were no prying eyes. Belle was no doubt still in slumber, and he guessed the others had fallen into a similar state of sleep. In fact if he listened carefully to the silence he could hear the Olaf's light snoring interrupting it now and again. He turned back to Falcar who was looking more intrigued. "What I am about to tell you must stay between us." Falcar nodded, his eyes eager for the knowledge his master was about to divulge. "The Arch Mage believes Bernard was paralyzed before he was killed. He also believes there was only one attacker. He is telling everyone it was a bandit attack to keep things calm but there is no evidence to claim this. Bernard is one of the most skilled Wizards we have-" He stopped to correct himself. "-had." With a sign and the tone of a typical magic awed mage he continued. "Falcar...you can only beat magic with magic. If he was paralyzed he would have dispelled himself immediately with a potion. His potions must have been taken and the other mages must have been silenced before their death. There was no signs of a battle of any kind."

"You believe they were assassinated rather than simply murdered?"

"I never said assassinated but I think someone or some_thing _was not content with us snooping around that shrine. Whether we awakened some sort of creature or we have a stray psychotic mage running around Valenwood I am unsure. I just think we should have sent some battlemages to secure the place. But the Arch Mage was never the most enchanted staff in the Chironasium when it came to things like this. Instead he believes we should leave the Valenwood guards to sort it out. It was a foolish thing to do; we may have lost that shrine forever." With a sudden groan that swept away the disapproval, Thaelorn's eyes fell to Falcar who was watching with a sudden intensity. "Let's forget this; you'll need to get that tent built so you can enjoy a few hours of sleep."

He was reluctant to go but with a look that told Falcar Thaelorn would say no more he said "Yes master," letting go of the casualness the rest of the conversation had held. He left with a swiftness that could rival his master's. But before he could slink off his master's voice called to him once again.

"Falcar," he turned to see Thaelorn standing directly behind him. Thaelorn's speed was never to be underestimated and the Altmer showed no signs of surprise. And with almost a paternal sigh he said, "There's some ointment in my bag that would help heal your lips. Please put some on, I know if you don't you'll just spend the day complaining about how sore they are." And with a warm smile, the Wood Elf went back to his defensive duty.

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**A/N: Sorry for it being so long, the first few chapters are really just getting the characters introduced and getting the plot going. Altmer are probably one of my least favourite races but they are so interesting to write. I went over this chapter carefully but knowing my short attention span I most likely missed something. If there is anything really cringe worthy please point it out and I'll give it a good sort out. Thank you x**


	3. The Serpent and The Mage

**Again thank you so much for the previous reviews, they were really helpful! This chapter is from Falcar's POV ... so it _might _be a _wee _bit harsher than the last chapter.

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**Chapter Two: The Serpent and The Mage**

Midnight embraced Hammerfell with the deviousness of darkness and the comfort of the moonlight which fell upon the camp with a silver glow. The stars danced up on the heavens above and The Serpent invaded where The Mage should have ruled. Falcar's tent stood away from the others, next to where Lenore slept peacefully, sheltered by her master's tent so her fur was untouched by the breeze. She stirred when she heard a noise in the darkness, her ear pricking up at an instance. A familiar hand slowly brushed against her slender neck telling her not to worry. Satisfied, she fell back to sleep on the dry earth she was beginning to get accustomed to.

Lenore was always aware, and it was one of the reasons Falcar admired her more than anyone he had ever met. She was his perfect companion; she matched everything he was himself. He had raised her ever since she was a foal, beautiful and slender with no trust in anyone but himself. From the white diamond between her eyes and the black hooves, she was perfect in every possible way. She was fast on her feet, more agile than the other mares and her ability to jump would rival any Cheydinhal horse that existed. He saw her as an equal and perhaps slightly higher when it came to certain creatures that walked on two legs.

The night was soft despite the rather heavy darkness that had crept upon the land. If he listened carefully he could hear the soft bleating of distant sheep by the farmhouse, where a rather agitated Redguard lived. His home was unnoticeable during the day as it stood far behind the tents and appeared only as a speck. But in the humid night it was practically invisible. And the road ahead of the camp was as silent as the void.

The campsite was no different than it was when Falcar had left to sleep, or try to sleep as the case may be. The only difference he could spot was the small tables placed opposite each other just beside the campfire. There was no doubt that the idiotic Nord probably put them there as whoever had did not even consider the danger of putting wooden objects right next to a roaring fire. Cursing the morons under his breath, he moved them further away. Thaelorn was nowhere in sight, most likely prowling the area like a dog guarding its pups. Falcar could not understand why he would care if anything happened to most of them. From what he had gathered through the moment of meeting them, the trip was a disaster in the making.

True, the Orc could be of use even though he had never thought Orc mages existed. They seemed to be more of the throwing rages type rather than the throwing spells type. Then again, he never thought a Bosmer would be so crafty at throwing fireballs. Pierre seemed idiotic, too much of a coward to be a battlemage. The Nord was a hopeless case if ever he saw one. Those barbarians could never do anything right in his opinion. The Breton woman was obviously a bootlicker, he had never met her but the odd facts he gathered from Thaelorn made him secure in that conclusion. No person in their right mind would ask to come to an expedition that was a few provinces away unless they hoped to gain something. Nor would they purposely arrive earlier than everyone else.

Falcar was too restless to sleep and the darkness was a comfort to him. He always felt more secure in the shadow than the light where scrutinizing eyes beheld everything they saw. Grabbing a wooden box filled with alchemy supplies behind the tents, he made his way back to the two tables and sat at the one closest to his tent. It was filled with various plants and chunks of meat which would be perfect for some health potions. _Remember_, Thaelorn would tell him before he was sent on a task. _Always be prepared. Foolishness can cost lives._

He remembered it was the first month he was employed into Thaelorn's service. Thaelorn told him a story from his youth, about a mission he was sent on with a few other associates. They were studying an Ayleid ruin when they bumped into some Vampires. One of the associates threw a fireball hoping to scare them off but the spell crashed into a weak structure causing a cave in. Most of the party were crushed and trapped. Thaelorn was the lucky one but due to his lack of understanding in the arts of Restoration he was unable to fully heal the others. The only thing he could do was attempt to crawl out and get help. The Bosmer had described it to him in every detail, the pain, the fear, the anger, the determination all for nothing in the end. They were dead before help arrived.

It was a test Falcar knew; the tale was not the result of a sudden nostalgia. It was to test his reaction, his emotional depth. Falcar had no such thing and after the tale was told to him he stated the associate should have practised his aim more. That it was not Thaelorn's doing that damned them all but the associate that had fired the destruction spell. The guilt should have been on him. And instead of being called heartless, Thaelorn seemed to admire the honesty of his opinion with a sad smile which seemed to hold a secret of its own.

His honesty however was not appreciated by other members of the guild. Whether it was the teasing remarks of Dee-Aero or an angry word from a fellow student, it was obvious to Falcar not everyone was pleased of his presence in the University. The Council of Mages never seemed to be phased with him although he doubted this was due to a tolerance they had. The Council of Mages had the brains of slaughterfish and now he thought about it they had the bite as well. A lot of the other high ranking members were just as bad. They were copies, waiting for the Council to shed its skin so they could take their places. It was a world of vicious vipers. A world where each member was out for his or her own agenda.

Thaelorn shared the same opinion; in fact it was most likely Thaelorn's opinion that influenced his own. The Bosmer had opened his eyes to many things. But some things, Thaelorn had told him, were best kept in one's own head. The outspoken ones, the ones who actually fought for what they believed in were the ones who were immediately shunned and stripped of any hope of gaining power.

He remembered once after Thaelorn had had a drink or two, he told him a story about one of the Master-Wizards. His name was a blur in Falcar's memory but the tale still stuck through. _Not the brightest star in the sky, _Thaelorn's voice mused in his head as the fond memory played as Falcar began to crush the ingredients in a Mortar and Pestle. _He discovered this staff in a ruin west of Morrowind which had quite a handy paralyse spell on it. Sadly, the creator had also given it an invisibility enchantment which lasted five seconds on the target. It was very impressive when he was fighting confused bandits but then he came across a nest of vampires. Well you see vampires have a natural resistance to paralysation, so instead of rendering them useless he made 'em mad! Why the fool even thought it would be handy Mara only knows. Perhaps he thought it would cast it upon himself rather than his victims, foolish mage! Never been the same since. Now Falcar, darling Falcar the moral of this story is invisibility and angry vampires are a very bad combination!_

It was suffice to say nothing more was said as Thaelorn passed out almost immediately after finishing the story. The small Wood Elf could never hold his alcohol, even if it was just a goblet or two. It was amusing to Falcar seeing such a collected man being off his head, not so amusing for Thaelorn after he awoke in Falcar's bed with no memory of the previous night. He calmed down after Falcar explained the he had carried the Bosmer to his room to save them both the embarrassment of a member of the University walking in on them. He was even more relieved when Falcar explained he had not slept in the bed with him, as if he had even _contemplated _such a thing!

However, he was not amused when Falcar informed him his feather enchanted shoes had been sold in order for Falcar to pay for another night in the room. Falcar personally believed he had overreacted, and the inn keeper of The Tiber Septim hotel was certainly not happy with the scorch marks left on their well furnished walls.

A sudden rustling sound halted all thoughts and dissolved them into the night. Falcar froze, his head whipped to the weatherworn tent with the frayed embroidery that stood in its own exile just beside the Orc's. The shabby curtains separating the tent from reality were suddenly parted by long pale, bony fingers showing the room within the tent as nothing but a dark haze into some unknown void. And there she stood as if she had just materialised from the darkness, a mistress of the night if there ever was one and Falcar immediately understood why Thaelorn would suspect her of being a vampire.

She stood in the shadow, draped in a black nightdress which seemed to enhance her pale skin with a deathly glow when mixed with the moonlight. Everything about her, every feature she held reminded him of the night. It was as if she wore it around her shoulders where her hair fell down, complimenting them with a wild wave, the ends curling as they reached her chest. The pitch of every strand of hair could rival Nocturnal herself. Her eyes were dark, no colour or brightness seemed to shine through but she by no means looked threatening. She looked almost fragile with her skeletal figure. Shadows crossed her face casually like one would spy a rebellious dark cloud skip across the moons. How long he sat, watching the woman with as much caution as he could muster and immediately felt disturbed with her presence. There was something off about her, something he could not fathom. And when he tried he could feel a headache threatening his temple with a small twinge of pain.

She did not see him, her eyes had travelled to the stars and they looked almost alive when they fell upon the attacking serpent, robbing The Mage of his sky. Holding several sheets of parchment and a bottle of ink with balanced hands, she made her way to the second table. Falcar hoped she would not spot him but as they were directly in front of each other it would be difficult not to. She was careful; every step she took was a slow movement which reminded him of the serpent above their heads coiling around The Mage's neck.

She placed the parchment and ink on the table, and pulled out a quill that was hidden in her dark untamed hair. She sat down, making no sound whatsoever. It was as if she herself was created from the silence that had accompanied him most of the night. Perhaps that was all she was, a waking dream he conjured up from his own imagination. But if she were such a thing and if it were his own mind he would have thought he would have dreamt up someone much more...alive. The moonlight from the twin moons fell upon the centre between the two tables, the silver beams slyly crawling onto the edges of the desks. If she were to look up suddenly, she would see him watching her. It was if the Gods had heard his thoughts, and granted him an audience. The solution of the health potion hissed as it cooled down in the heated jar. Falcar froze as she snapped to attention, his blue eyes now staring into the void of her own dark ones.

It was an awkward silence and Falcar immediately wished Thaelorn were here as he had no idea what to do. Usually he would just get up and leave but he felt frozen in a silent panic as if she had paralysed him with a sharp look and the serpent entered his mind once again. The woman's nose suddenly crinkled and her eyes squinted, most likely wondering what on Nirn he was doing there and why in Oblivion he was staring at her with such intensity. With the moonlight now guiding his eyes, her features were much clearer. Her lips were darker than his, but not so dark it clashed with her skin. Her nose was more pointed than round, sharper than the other Bretons he had witnessed in the guild who usually had small, soft ones.

She was not entirely unappealing...for a human anyway. But she was by no means beautiful. She was much too human and yet, not enough human to be remotely disregarded. To him, she was the sort of woman a desperate sailor would make passionate love to only to use her plainness as a means to imagine someone else.

"Who are you!" It was a foolish thing to say as he knew full well who she was and the bitter anger that decorated his voice was more at the situation than the question he asked.

A dark thin eyebrow rose, and a devious smile played on her lips as if she knew what he knew. It made the supposed fragile woman suddenly look more ominous. A sudden dislike showed itself in a scowl towards her as she spoke. "I am Belle Dubois," her words were spoken in a deep voice and sounded much older than she looked. Then again, he was unsure of how old she was. She looked ageless in the moonlight, no wrinkles blemished her complexion but yet no vibes of youth emitted off her. He would never call her a girl but he would never call her an old hag either. "And you are?"

He wanted to tell her to mind her own business but with promises of civility and not wanting to sound like a hypocrite he decided to answer, the scowl still plain on his face. "Falcar."

"You're an Altmer?" She seemed to play with the words as she said it, not disapproving yet they were not spoken in delight. The word Altmer rolled of her tongue with a High Rock tint to her voice.

It was a rather dim question. By the looks of things this woman was as brainless as she was lifeless. "Yes," he replied with a cold drawling. And with a sneer he added, "Well done, you have _eyesight_."

She was more amused than annoyed at his tone and he wondered if she asked him the dim-witted question on purpose to aggravate him. He was beginning to like this woman less and less. "Aloe Vera and Venison if I'm correct, health potion I suspect. What level in alchemy are you?"

His blue eyes narrowed unsure whether she was baiting him into more aggravation or she was genuinely curious. He decided to answer against his better judgement. "I'm journeyman."

"Is your rank in the guild journeyman as well?" Oh it was so well disguised he hated her for it. Her chin rested on the back of her bony fingers as her elbows relaxed on the surface of the wooden table, watching him squirm as he was being forced to explain he was only an associate. It was a means of securing power for herself, trying to prove to him that he was lower than her no matter what he tried to do.

"I'm an associate," he muttered through gritted teeth as her smile widened and her eyebrows rose simultaneously. He could hear all the Daedra Princes cheering her on as Sanguine toasted her through those dark portals she watched him through. Those portals might as well be gates to her own realm of Oblivion. He had no doubts the rumours of her Daedra worshipping were true, demons basically laughed through her eyes.

"And who do you belong to?" She spoke of him as if he were a lost hound who had wandered away from his owner. His scowl deepened and if it were not for guild restrictions he would have thrown a shock spell at her face. Those eyes, he tried to work out if he could see the scarlet within them. If he could detect such an abnormality he could slay her and claim she was taken over by a sudden blood lust. This dream of false self defence was shattered when he realised her eyes held no red, or in fact any colour though it could merely be a trick of the light or lack of it as the case may be.

It was bitter disappointment of not being able to slay her that shaped his answer although it matched none of the words. And if she were foolish enough to dig deep she would mistakenly believe the tone was aimed at his master who he had great respect for in comparison to this fiend of a woman. "Thaelorn is my mentor." No he never used the word master; he refused to give her any satisfaction to anything that may degrade him further.

To his surprise and utter odd delight, the revelation seemed to make surprise seep into her strange features. The surprise then wore off and shaped into curiosity, something he did not want this woman feeling – especially towards him. She seemed to be the prying type but her next words made him wonder. "Thaelorn's associate, I never thought Thaelorn would take an associate or even be allowed one. Master Roux used to go on about him; he was after all Roux's favourite student in all of Roux's time at the University despite Thaelorn's ...troubles." Her manner seemed playful yet slightly sadistic at the pleasure she seemed to take at the confusion which etched the Altmer's golden features. "Oh but I assumed he told you has he not?"

He wanted to know more on what she was talking about, but his pride would not let him bite. After all, what were the words of a meaningless human? It was obvious she was just trying to bait him, and his mind flashed back to Thaelorn's impression of the strange woman. The rumours he casually mentioned and with her dislikeable deposition he wondered how deep these rumours flowed. And the real question: What Prince did she serve? Many possibilities swarmed his mind.

She seemed to have had all the fun she was going to have with him. She returned to her parchment with a small smirk of satisfaction, as he returned to his Alchemy enjoying the bliss that was silence. He began to place more ingredients in the Mortar and Pestle, the scowl disappearing as the smell of lavender invaded the air. As he picked up the Lavender, he heard it, the noise which made his ears cringe.

_Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

His eyes slowly looked up, meeting with the woman's downcast gaze as she was scrawling notes upon the parchment with the rather loud quill. It would pause, before she dipped it back in the ink and continued with the irritating sound. She smiled once again, every word seemed to be lengthened and he knew that somewhere inside her macabre mind she was aware of the irritation. He shook it off, his mind desperately trying to discover ways to occupy himself.

_Scratch...Scratch...Scratch..._

He placed the Lavender, Aloe Vera and Venison in the Mortar and Pestle, and crushed it, imagining he was throttling the woman. Although lavender was too sweet a thing to be compared to her. He imagined throttling her neck would be effortless as it already looked as if it would snap with the right amount of pressure, like a twig in a tightly clasped hand. Something he himself used to enjoy as a child. Holding the twig just to feel the snap as his thumb would apply the pressure, his sharp elven ears just waiting to hear the crunch which would bless the sounds around him.

_Scratch...Scratch...Scratch..._

It was moments like this he was happy Telekinesis was the first spell he studied. He was told it was useless, but he wished he could shake the hand of the man who invented it as a plan shaped in his mind. He focussed on the inkwell, unguarded next to the parchment, her eyes elsewhere so she would never notice until it was too late. The low hum of magicka made the corner of Falcar's lip quirk as the bottle gracefully rose in the air, levitating above the parchment, far too above for the woman to notice. He was careful, waiting for the opportunity and moving his hand to manoeuvre in such a way she would not be drawn to it. It came when she leant back for a moment to study the words, and he let go of the spell.

It was beautiful; the bottle fell with grace and crashed onto her work, small shards of glass shattered from the top as if it were opening like petals from a flower. The ink soaked every single parchment which she had unwisely placed on top of each other, and some stray beads of ink flew to her person staining the skin on her neck. She cried out, flinging herself from the table with a hiss. Her eyes bore the look of a murderess as she flung what seemed to be a paralysis spell in his direction which sizzled as it charged from her skeletal fingers. Luckily he dodged but not before the current potion he was working on fell from the table as he tumbled sideways to avoid the spell. He hit the ground and winced as the boiling liquid fell over his hand, burning the skin over his knuckles.

Illusion...why was he not surprised? It emanated from her person; the word was on her tongue the whole time but was hidden from sound. He was foolish not to see it before. Her whole being cried illusion, her whole manner cried mage of Illusion. He was now not only convinced she was a bootlicker but a manipulator as well.

He looked up to see her standing over him, no longer the same fragile woman he had first seen gracefully appearing from the darkness. With the light of the moons once again guiding her features, her eyes were downcast at him and were frozen in a baleful stare. It was broken however by the sound of approaching footfalls, and no sooner had they turned Thaelorn had reappeared between Olaf and Pierre's tent.

"Falcar?" Concern infected his voice at once and not even a second had passed before Thaelorn was at his side hastily pulling him to his feet. When Falcar turned he noticed the mer's eyes were wide with concern, like a mother who had just witnessed her child banging their head against something sinister. A dizziness Falcar could not explain took him over, most likely something to do with the fumes of his incomplete potion, made him grab the Bosmer's shoulder for support. Thaelorn's calm demeanour broke within seconds, and the concern had turned into a diluted rapid panic at the Falcar's lack of response. "Are you alright? What happened? Why were you on the floor? What's wrong with your hand? Why is it red? Did you land on it? Did you burn it? Falcar -"

"Heal my burn you fool!" Falcar hissed, shoving the injured hand at the Bosmer who took it with little grace.

Placing his own over it, Thaelorn cast a minor heal spell which hit the Altmer's hand like a cool breeze. The skin begun to stitch itself up, repairing the cracks where the potion which was ironically meant to heal had burned through the skin. "Thank Talos it wasn't a poison you were working with. That would have damn near taken your hand off! What happened?"

The cold blue eyes once again returned to the woman who still stood, shooting her with a piercing look. "The imbecile attacked me just because she was clumsy enough to spill ink over her work. That's the problem with all these Bretons, they are unable to admit their mistakes therefore they must take their anger on one who is merely at the wrong place at the wrong time." This received a deep snort from the Breton, more out of disbelief than mirth as she looked rather miffed.

Thaelorn groaned, rubbing his temple in exasperation as he turned to Belle who stood, ink covered with a sharp sense of irritation tainting her features. "Miss Dubois, could you kindly explain to me you're sudden ah...murderous actions towards my associate? And also please, could you elaborate on Falcar no doubt _honest _claims to innocence?" Falcar sneered at the sarcasm which painted the Bosmer's voice.

"Your pet ruined my work." She snarled, her voice becoming more aggressive with every word spoken and seemed to care much more about the strange ink drenched notes than her nightdress which had suffered ink albeit only lightly. "I was merely working on my notes which I need for my studies, and that damned _Elf-" _Thaelorn frowned at the careless way she tossed _Elf _at him. " – shattered the ink bottle. His telekinesis was effective and well preformed but that is to be expected as even a hog could do that. It would be disgraceful if an _amateur _could not. But that is not the point; the point is he is _not _to practise near my work!" Her voice had turned to a hiss. "Keep him on a leash, so he can learn his place _may the shadows curse him!_"

Falcar muttered something which Thaelorn luckily overheard as 'despicable _witch_'. Casting a look of exasperation towards Falcar, Thaelorn turned to the woman who looked ready to kill. "I apologise for any inconvenience Miss Dubois though I would prefer if you refrained from killing my associate on this occasion. The paperwork would be _horrendous_. And murder isn't exactly the best thing to have on your recommendation." In an attempt to appease her anger he asked the now slightly amused Breton. "I haven't seen you since you arrived, How are you faring erm...apart from the ink?"

"Much better than when I arrived," she seemed to look less heated and yet Falcar could feel her deathly glare upon him still. "Valenwood was one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. The whole trek through was alive with colour. Hammerfell is dry and vast but the sky is much easier to see without the trees." They all looked up at her words; the stars of the serpent were now the brightest in the sky. A sudden chill of forgotten nostalgia crept down Falcar's neck. "Excuse me Magician but I must attempt to salvage what I can before the ink dries."

At her cold farewell, she gathered up her items and marched back to her tent. "Goodnight Journeyman," Thaelorn politely said but his own farewell fell upon deaf ears as she merely carried on, disappearing behind the curtains of the weatherworn tent. Falcar, knowing far too well Thaelorn's mood was about to drastically change, attempted to sneak off once again. However Thaelorn immediately turned on the spot, his eyes narrowed at the Altmer.

"SIT DOWN!" Falcar decided to get it over and done with. Sitting down on the table he has been working on. He saw Thaelorn approach with his hands curling into balls of frustration. "YOU HAVE BEEN HERE MERELY A FEW HOURS AND ALREADY OTHER MEMBERS ARE ATTACKING YOU! THE ONE THING YOU PROMISED... THE ONE THING WAS REMAINING CIVIL!" He took another breath, quieting his voice so not to awaken the others. The hands were uncurled and he leant them against the table.

"Falcar," it was almost pleading yet the anger was still there in his usually soft voice. "I am seriously beginning to worry. All you have to do is attempt to get along with the others. Is civility so hard that you can't attempt to get along with people you have just met!

"I will only show civility to those who deserve it!" snarled Falcar, angry that Thaelorn had seemingly chosen the side of the cold hearted harpy. The cold blue looked straight into the soft brown. "All I have seen is a battlemage who looks as if he has never held a sword in his life, a barbarian who screams useless, a lout of an Orc and a psychotic, bootlicking, manipulative _shrew_ of a woman!"

Thaelorn never even blinked at the now breathless Altmer who leant back in his seat as if he had just proven his point. "Perhaps your idea of civility was right; perhaps you should just remain silent. Falcar, you can't go around jumping to ridiculous judgements and covering people in ink! I'm sorry but you can't! If you wish to be my student you have to learn to get a grip on these sorts of things. You joined the guild, an organisation which needs to work together in order to get things done. To be a representative of the guild, you must be civil and respectful. If you can't well there's not much for you here."

Falcar was struck silent as Thaelorn's words twisted in his head, morphing into grotesque being which snarled down upon his mind. "Are you...?" Falcar was unsure of how to react, the anger had now dulled down and numbness fought for its place. He looked away from the soft brown eyes, his vision falling to the darkness that swallowed the far end of the camp. "Are you going to expel me as your student?"

Thaelorn's eyes widened in realisation of his words, and at once his hand was on Falcar's shoulder as he moved to the Altmer's side. "No, of course not," the voice was soft once again, the resentment melting away into an almost hurt tone. "I apologise if you took my words for...you're up for advancement in the Guild. The Council of Mages were impressed with how far you've come. You already exceed the rank of Associate, but your abrasive nature is holding you back. This is a test set up for both of us. It's testing my skills as a leader and your skills as a well, team member shall we say. Imagine it; you would be an apprentice of the guild." Thaelorn smiled, but Falcar remained silent, mulling everything over is his mind.

"You told me they were not happy with me coming on this expedition?"

"At first they weren't keen on the idea, but after I persuaded them they thought it would be an opportunity to test you." Thaelorn smiled one of his distinctive smiles, the sort of smile Falcar recognised and it told him Thaelorn was about to get nauseatingly sentimental. "I have faith in you Falcar; you just need to learn to control yourself a little more. I'm not saying you have to completely pleasant and be best friends with everyone. You just can't go around upsetting people like you did with Belle. Many think my trust is misplaced but I know you'll see it through eventually, and I pray _you _will see to it I prove their doubts wrong."

Falcar merely scoffed and his trademark scowl returned. "Your syrupy words do not excuse the fact you immediately jumped to that harpy's side, nor does it excuse the fact you failed to warn me in advance about the test."The tone was lighter than actual scorn although it did hold a certain amount of annoyance. His arms crossed in mock defiance.

"Falcar, it wouldn't have been a test if I had told you...and stop sulking!" Falcar's scowl merely marred his face even more. "Look, just go back to bed and think of ways of avoiding confrontation with the others – namely Belle and Olaf." It was now Thaelorn's turn to cross his arms as he continued to scold Falcar. "And also I didn't jump to any sides. I just know you, and made a conclusion based with what I saw. And although the answer is most likely obvious, what did you think of her?"

Falcar paused before answering which seemed to surprise Thaelorn. When he first saw her, he saw a figure shrouded by elegance and some strange sort of mystery. Her rather patronising attitude however, painted her as something unworthy of recognition. She was what the night whispered of, a fiend which had deliberately attacked his pride. "She was different," the words slipped out before Falcar could stop them but soon he regained control. "She was unstable; slightly worrying when you think of her reaction to a few dots of ink on her notes she amusingly called work. After all, would you class a few pieces of parchment serious work? I doubt she has worked in her life, probably charming some hapless warlock to do it for her. She is also ill favoured in looks, but that is not entirely surprising as she is human after all."

Thaelorn raised an eyebrow in disbelief, "Truly you believe that? I would have said she was a handsome woman, not beautiful by any means but not 'ill favoured'." Suddenly a frown etched its way to his expression. "However she was far too thin and sickly for my liking. Sure Valenwood is not known for its amazing cuisine but surely she must have eaten something there."

"So she's not a vampire?" The disappointment was obvious, but only Falcar knew it was because that would lessen the opportunity of her bursting into flames under Hammerfell's heavy sunlight.

Thaelorn chuckled which killed the frown immediately. "I was joking Falcar, she arrived during the day and she did not arrive in a cloud of smoke. But you should ask her about her _opinions _on vampires if you ever do become acquainted favourably. From some of the things I've heard, she's quite sympathetic to them."

"Daedra? Vampires? Is there anything else I should know about her?"

The smile widened and his soft brown eyes flashed with amusement. "Indeed, there are lots of other things I could add. But heavens forbid I'm no gossip."

It was Falcar's turn for the disbelief. "You are as much as a gossip as Dee-Aero is an Argonian."

Thaelorn offered no reply and merely surveyed the mess left in the wake of Belle. The raised eyebrow had fallen and the amusement was washed away. "I wonder what she was working on. Star charts do you think?"

At his words Falcar looked up and for some reason he felt another chill attack his neck. The Serpent had finally claimed the sky and The Mage was nothing but a faded blur.

* * *

**A/N: You know that moment when you squee with delight knowing another chapter will soon be uploaded yet when you go over it, it just seems...meh. Yeah, that basically sums up my feelings about this chapter. I was hoping it would be a shorter but Belle and Thaelorn would just not shut up! I swear this chapter has a point despite it lacking in...well a lot. I went through it but like I said, I'm hopeless at spotting mistakes. Only this time I SWEAR the FIRST word is correct...that was slightly embarrassing...although amusing.**

**One quick question however, Was Ocato ever Arch-Mage? I was looking up to see if the previous Arch-Mages were mentioned and someone said Ocato was Arch Mage before Traven. I was going to follow this up but I couldn't find any evidence. And is the plural of 'Sload' just 'Sload'? Ok so two quick questions...**


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